


Needle and Thread

by Stripes_040527



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Brief Choni, F/F, Serpent Cheryl, mentioned Jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:30:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stripes_040527/pseuds/Stripes_040527
Summary: Cheryl had been sewing as long as she could remember•Post season 2 Serpent CherylQuick little character study





	Needle and Thread

Cheryl had been sewing as long as she could remember

When she was two, her grandmother had shown her all the tapestries and blankets that had been passed down generation to generation, holding her chubby hand as she toddled along, and explaining where they’d come from. They’d stopped when they reached the quilt, her grandmother sighing and reaching out to run a hand along it.   
“One day Cheryl, you’ll add a panel to this.”

When she was five, she spent devoted afternoons sitting on her grandmother’s lap as she pushed needles through fabric, explaining basting and tacking, the difference between tapestry and embroidery. She guided Cheryl’s hands through stitches and had her thread needles.

When she was seven, her brother had loudly proclaimed he wanted to sew too. He was denied, their parents citing his need to learn more practical skills for his future as heir. Cheryl knew this was code, she was being given to her grandma to keep her out of the way. She didn’t mind.

When she was 11, her grandmother died. Left behind was her sewing box, rich wood with velvet and satin inlays. Cheryl hid it under her bed and refused to touch it. 

When she was 15, her mother threw out the old wall hangings, destroyed the quilt. “They’re not fit to enter the Blossom family” she’d said, crossing her arms. Cheryl hadn’t spoken to her for months, instead walking to the graveyard to sit with her grandmother. 

When she was 17, Jason died. For the first time in half a decade, Cheryl found the box, pulling it from its dusty resting place. She rested her hands on it and cried. She said goodbye and kissed it gently, before donning a white dress and heading to the river. 

When the house burned, the only loss she felt was for the box she had not moved to safety. 

 

Now she is 18, and she finds herself stitching shut a stab wound, a bent needle threaded with dental floss. The most effective way to do it, the internet had told her. She has a contingency kit now, with a notebook filled with information she’s collected, gauze and bandages, needles and disinfectant.  
The Serpents can do it themselves mostly; they’ve been running just fine without her, but as she pushes the needle through skin Jughead stutters out a thank you. When she’s finished, distinct crosses holding skin shut on Jughead’s side, she peels off her gloves and runs a hand through her hair.   
Toni collects the leather jacket that was haphazardly thrown on the table and holds it out to her, helping Cheryl put it on before kissing her temple. They leave the bar hand in hand, heading outside to get away from the stuffy room and the thick smell of whisky, blood and bleach.  
“You know I love you, right?” Toni says, smiling softly.  
A beat passes, then “it’s been rough; I’m glad we have you now. No one can handle blood or clean us up as well as you can, Cherry. We’d be lost without you and your needle.”

A useless skill, her mother had once told her.  
But her mother didn’t really know anything. At least, not in the end.


End file.
